


the shifting earth beneath us

by Steel



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steel/pseuds/Steel
Summary: Ever since the destruction of the Black Tower, something had drawn them together, like  moths hurtling themselves at a sputtering flame. The Pattern, some might say, though Taim was a more practical sort.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tedronai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The World May Burn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/973000) by [Tedronai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/pseuds/Tedronai). 



Logain’s fingers trailed lightly over Taim’s back, his hot breath tickling Taim’s neck. “You remember Vinchova, don’t you?” Somehow, Logain’s voice was like a low rumble resonating through Taim’s body. It seeped through his skin and traveled all the way down to his toes, but it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation.

“Evin Vinchova,” Taim murmured sleepily, pressing his back against Logain. He was warm and comfortable, Logain’s scent filling his nose, and though he was puzzled as to why Logain was bringing up one of his followers _now_ , of all times, he did not show it. “What of him?”

“The boy thought we were close, what with all our meetings.” Logain grinned and propped himself onto an elbow, a few strands of hair tumbling over his face. It made him appear even more rugged than usual. “But I set him right quickly enough. Told him what a fool notion it was. That if you could have your way, you’d strip me of my rank and have me working the fields, hoeing turnips with all the new recruits.”

Taim’s lips quirked a fraction. “That _is_ a fool notion. I would never have you hoeing turnips. Now, mucking out stalls...” He lifted a hand, privately amused at the stunned expression on Logain’s face, and casually tangled his fingers through those curls. “I have no doubt _that_ would take your pride down a few notches.”

“A pity the stench would mean putting a stop to our nightly visits,” Logain replied mildly, trailing his lips along Taim’s shoulder. “I imagine anyone with a nose would smell me as soon as I entered the village, and make sneaking into your rooms even more difficult than it already is.”

“A pity,” Taim agreed, turning his face towards Logain for a proper kiss.

When their lips met, Taim tugged hard on Logain’s hair, expecting him to respond just as roughly, as he so often did. But this time was different. There was no fire, no heat, not like there had been a few hours ago. Logain’s lips were uncharacteristically soft against Taim’s, barely applying any pressure.

Taim’s brows furrowed, his fingers in Logain’s curls growing slack. He was unused to this sudden tenderness—it had never entered the equation between them until now—but before he could wrap his mind around its meaning, Logain was drawing back. He stared down at Taim for a long, tense moment, as if expecting Taim to say something. There was a wild look in his eyes, a desperation almost. Unsure how to react, Taim kept his expression smooth and gave away none of the confusion in his thoughts. He did not know what to think of Logain suddenly acting in this manner, acting so unlike himself.

Logain pulled away with a tight exhale and rolled onto his back, eyes raising to the ceiling. His one arm was only loosely wrapped around Taim’s shoulders now, as if Taim were nothing more than an _afterthought_ in the midst of whatever it was that had gotten over him. Taim bit back the caustic retort that was on the tip of his tongue, swallowing it quickly before he rolled out of bed and padded over to the nightstand to pour himself a glass of wine. Frowning to himself, he took a long drink. It was just a small wrinkle between his brows, but he was glad he had his back to Logain so that the man would not see it.

Ever since the destruction of the Black Tower, _something_ had drawn them together, like moths hurtling themselves at a sputtering flame. The Pattern, some might say, though Taim was a more practical sort. In his estimation, it had more to do with their common interests. The Asha’man were split clean in two, their allegiances either to himself or Logain. He supposed it made a strange sort of sense. They had both declared themselves the Dragon Reborn, before Rand al’Thor had emerged and claimed the title. That was not something a man did lightly, not even for all the power and glory in the world. It had the tendency to change a man too, to make him think differently. It had not been a light decision for Taim, despite his current situation being far better than it could have been.

Oh, how he had first _despised_ al’Thor when the man had made little to no effort to even involve himself in the Black Tower’s workings back when he still lived, leaving everything on Taim’s shoulders. But now? Now Taim almost wished al’Thor had lived, if only to help them face the Seanchan. Taim had the feeling Logain harbored similar sentiments, though Logain had never shared them. Even though Logain was almost too free with his opinions on a variety of matters, offering input when it had not been asked, on this subject he remained curiously tight-lipped. Logain had come to the Black Tower seeking amnesty because he’d had nowhere else to go, from what Taim recalled. Taim had done much the same when he had first gone to al’Thor. And now circumstance had forced them to join with the White Tower...

It was better to make strong alliances than to struggle alone, was it not?

Taim’s hand tightened around the glass, if only for brief a moment. He chanced a furtive look over his shoulder to find that Logain was _still_ staring at the ceiling, much to his chagrin. What had gotten into him? Things had been going so well until Logain just _shut down_ like that. He was usually so open, so easy to read.

It had been painfully obvious to pick up on Logain’s desire for him, laughingly easy to tumble into bed together afterwards. No one in the Black Tower besides Taim himself could compare to Logain’s strength in the One Power, which had been one of the reasons he had been drawn to the man in the first place. Not that he would ever say out loud they were _equals_ , of course not. But Logain was certainly a cut above every other channeler here, both in power as well as in mind, challenging his intellect in ways Taim enjoyed.

 _Usually_ , that was.

“What are we doing, Mazrim?” Logain’s voice cut the silence like a knife, as if he knew that Taim had been staring at him earlier, even though a quick glance yielded that his eyes were still focused on the ceiling.

“Don’t call me that,” Taim snapped, lips tightening a fraction. Such a casual use of his name, and coming from Logain, no less… it incensed him more than Logain’s abnormal behavior, even more than whatever insinuation was behind those words.

“But it’s your name.” Logain’s voice sounded odd—there was a strange timbre to it that he could not quite place—but Taim refused to turn and look at him again. “You call me by my name.”

“ _Everyone_ calls you by your name.” He quickly drained the rest of his wine before pouring himself a second glass. “You give it freely, without restraint. It doesn’t even cross people’s minds to call you by any other name.”

He heard Logain shift on the bed, the mattress creaking beneath his weight. There was a shuffling, followed by another creak, and then footsteps approached him from behind. Logain was close to him now, so close that Taim could even feel his body’s heat. He thought perhaps that Logain might try to drag him back to bed, but the man merely reached for the other glass, pouring himself some wine. Taim bit back another retort at Logain so freely serving himself when they were in _his_ rooms, but smothered it with another gulp of wine. The alcohol seared his throat pleasantly, distracting him for the moment.

“So am I to call you Taim... or the M’Hael?”

“I no longer go by that title.” His words were quick, but his voice was perfectly level. Even so, his feelings were another matter. No doubt because he knew there was something more at work here, something that had to do with Logain’s earlier words. This talk about names was merely a cover, a fruitless effort at stalling… but stalling at _what_?

Logain was silent for several moments. Finally, Taim heard him set down his glass before feeling the man’s large hand grip one of his shoulders. Not forcibly, as he had been expecting, but… gently, almost hesitantly.

“Taim,” he said softly, his breath tickling the back of Taim’s neck. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Schooling his face into blankness, Taim was half-tempted to ignore him. But after a few moments he huffed, setting his own glass down before turning around to eye him coolly. Now that they were face-to-face again, Logain stared into his eyes for a long moment, as if searching for something, but Taim would be burned before he could figure out what it was. While subtlety and finesse were traits he normally appreciated, now was not the time for them. He had been patient enough.

“What has gotten into you?” he demanded, voice still carefully controlled. “Is this about the Seanchan seizing control of Ghealdan? It is, isn’t it?” He had a feeling it was not, but he refused to entertain that thought. “There wasn’t anything else you could have done short of throwing your life and the lives of our men away, and we can’t afford that. You’re a smart man, Logain. I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

Something flickered across Logain’s face. Something almost like a _smile_.

 _Is he going mad?_ Now that Taim thought about it, he did not know how much the taint of _saidin_ might be at fault here. Logain had never given him the impression before that he did not have complete control over his mental faculties. Then again, the madness manifested in a number of different ways. For all he knew, Logain might have succumbed to it long ago.

“You said _our_ men,” he reminded him, and now Taim was _sure_ the bloody man was smiling. There was even a twinkle in those dark eyes of his, a spark Taim did not think he had ever seen there before.

“I fail to see what you find so amusing about that.” He reached for his glass again, taking a sip to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “You lead your side, and I lead mine. The men won’t have it any other way, never mind how it muddies things up with new recruits. We always wind up organizing everything together anyway.”

Logain settled down on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. The smile had faded, but he seemed far more relaxed than before. Taim could not help but notice that Logain was sitting _far_ too casually, either. He pretended not to notice, wondering whether the taint really was getting to the man. It affected them all in a variety of ways, he supposed, and a number of them were not what one would call conventional at all.

“You’re right,” Logain finally said, staring up at him. All mirth had fled from his eyes, and now there was a haunted look about them that reminded Taim of the time they had first met, when Logain had first come to the Black Tower seeking amnesty. Freshly Healed, bestowed with the ability to channel again, the echo of his loss still sharp. “About Ghealdan, I mean. I shouldn’t let it get to me. I did the best I could.”

“You did.” Taim settled down on the bed next to him, passing over Logain’s full glass. “What we’re doing is fighting for our lives, the same way we did when we fought against the Dark One’s forces. It is no different, when you think about it. Just another war.”

Logain grunted, tipping his head back and draining his drink in one go before passing it back. “You’d think fighting a bloody army of channelers would be easier than resealing the Dark One’s prison.” His tone was almost self-deprecating.

“No one ever said the path to peace would be easy.”

“Hmmm,” Logain said, wetting his lips. “I like the sound of that. The path to peace.”

Taim stared at Logain’s mouth for a moment, feeling a little heady from all the wine. “There’s more bothering you than Ghealdan, isn’t there?” he asked, setting the empty glasses aside and folding his legs beneath him. A part of him wondered what had possessed him to ask such a thing, but another part of him _needed_ to know the answer.

Logain was silent for a few moments before that blasted smile returned, oddly crooked but no less warm. “I just have a lot on my mind,” he said, shifting closer and brushing a hand along Taim’s thigh. A pause followed before he added, more quietly, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Being with you helps.”

It seemed to Taim like there was a deeper meaning behind those words, and he could already imagine what this meaning was, but he did not want to acknowledge it. Neither did Logain, it seemed. That was fine with Taim. “You’ll be missed if you don’t go back soon.” Not that he _wanted_ him to go, of course not, but it would not do to seem too eager.

“I don’t feel like going back just yet.” Logain’s hand drifted higher, fingers brushing teasingly against Taim’s hip, making Taim’s breath hitch a little despite himself. “I’d rather stay a while longer and see what other—”

Taim grabbed Logain’s face impatiently, making an inarticulate sound, and pulled him in for a kiss.


End file.
